at the face of Bunk Trevelyan's wife that first day. He looked
at the faces of the soldiers; but the faces told him nothing,
One day on the street, he met the young lieutenant who had
been in charge of the cavalry detail the night his house
burned. The lieutenant recognized him, and nodded friend-
lily. And once Mr. Munn had occasion to go down Front
Street, where the warehouses had been. He saw the
blackened ruins, the workmen, the guards, and the men
leaning against the barrier. That night of the raid, at the
moment of the first blast, when the air had reeled, sodden
and swollen with sound, he had felt a release, a certainty.
That was of that time, not this. Now, in the light of full
afternoon, he watched the picks of the workmen rise and fall,
and the indifferent guards.
"The warehouses," Doctor MacDonald said, "that don't
mean a thing. We want warehouses, don't we? Don't we
want somebody to buy 'our tobacco?" Then he grinned. " It's
what goes in them counts. And "—pausing—" what gets
paid for what goes in them. I don't see why the warehouses
make people downhearted. Or I do see—they're blind as
" I'm not downhearted," Mr. Munn told him, " but people
are. You can tell."
" All we need is to keep up membership of the Association.
And in the other. Give them meetings, get 'em together and
give 'em something to do, something to think about, nurse
'em along. That's all we need. Keep that up-----"
"And money," Mr. Munn said gloomily. "There isn't
any more advance money, and we haven't got our price yet,
the companies feeling so cocky with their soldiers here, and
people need money."
"Money," Doctor MacDonald replied. "Sure. But just
enough money to eat. Just that. In a pinch just that, and
this is a pinch. A man don't need much in a pinch. It'll
surprise you, by God. I lived once, six weeks it was, on just a
handful of parched corn a day and a jack rabbit or a prairie
chicken when I could get one, and me on the move, too.